


cowboys and the men that love them

by ficfucker



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Angst, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Happy Ending, Living Together, M/M, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Sharing a Bed, cowboy!rhett, lotta cowboy smoochin, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: link has been in love with rhett for longer than he can rememberwhat better time to admit to this than the yearly county fair?





	1. Chapter 1

Link is completely consumed with his thoughts over how nice Rhett’s jeans fit, his light blue Wranglers, his “rodeo” jeans, he called them with a sly grin whenever he pulled them on, that when Rhett says something and gives him a look, Link has to ask, “Whut’s that?” like a fool.

“Said we should grab some Cokes then go up on the bleachers, scope the place out while they finish settin’ up.” 

Link nods and as he always does, follows Rhett, who takes the natural lead. Rhett looks good today, in his special “The Fair’s in Town” outfit that he gears up in every year; a rust brown and pearl white plaid rolled to his sleeves, his riding Wranglers, a pair of black cowboy boots with gold stitching of proud roosters on each side; big oval belt buckle with a red barn grooved into it, MCLAUGHLIN printed in a semicircle over the top half; black leather cowboy hat that weighs about a pound and is hotter than all hell in the Summer, Link knows, from the few times he’s tried it on. Rhett’s beard is coming in full now, too, a golden reddish color, and it makes Link want to run his fingers through it frantically. 

Link feels plain compared to him: in a regular white shirt and his worn out dark blue Levi’s, a muddied pair of yellow tan construction steel toes. He never gets dressed up for the fair, lets Rhett peacock because it’s more his event than Link’s; Rhett being the one who gets to show the horses for the night before the rodeo, the one that gets to ride the bulls with everyone watching him from the stands, cheering and screaming, the lights burning down on him. 

In some sense, it fills Link with this secret little prideful feeling, like he’s lucky to be walking Rhett around the grounds, knowing all the cowgirls will be fawning over him. He gets to look at Rhett and think “He’s mine”, even though he’s not really his, only so much a brother as far as Rhett is concerned, but Link can squash that down for today and imagine that Rhett is his trophy cowboy. 

“Hot as the devil,” Rhett comments, slotting them both into line behind some sweaty, long haired teens ordering fried dough from the stand they’ve stopped at. 

Link nods. He can feel beads of sweat rolling down his temples, pooling in the collar of his shirt, which sticks to his front. “Swear, they schedule the fair every year for hottest day on Earth.” 

Rhett scoffs a laugh, keeps an eye on the group in front of them who are fooling around and over powdering their fried dough with the silver sugar shaker. “Big conspiracy theory you’ve been thinkin’ on, Neal?” 

“Oh, for sure.” 

“An’ why’s that? Whut’s the benefit?” 

Link pauses to consider it then says, confidently, “Sell more beverages. Big day for alcohol, ain’t it? Sweat so much you’ll want a drink. Horses’ll sweat, too. Slip right off the saddle and then, like, folks won’t be as grounded to get up on the bull, bets will get skewed. Sumthin’ like that.” 

Rhett smirks a devious, impressed little smirk and nods his head, strokes his beard. “Not too bad, Link, for thinkin’ that one on the fly, huh?” 

Link smiles. “I sound good talkin’ outta my ass.” 

They take a step forward and the older man from behind the glass window asks what they’ll have. Rhett answers “2 Cokes, please,”, holding his fingers up in a peace sign, and a gesture as simple and normal as that makes Link admire him more; how effortlessly cool he is, this colloused cowboy ordering his drink for him. 

The man reaches down behind the counter, sifts around in a cooler, the ice making a crunchy, metallic sound, and produces two green glass bottles, hands them over to Rhett who trades him a few crumpled bills. 

They walk the outside rim of the grounds, to avoid other folks who have shown up early like them, to get good parking and order some food and sit around under the tents before things are set fully in motion, and make their way to the bleachers. No one else is on them, so Rhett and Link clunk their boots up to the top row, sit together only a few inches apart under the partial but forgiving shade of a tree that’s cast a nice long shadow. 

They sit quiet for a moment, holding their cool drinks in their palms, Rhett pressing the glass body of his to his tanned neck to cool down some, and Link notices how tan his neck is, the spattering of freckles that have flared up from all the sun he’s been getting. Below them, the grounds look both small and large, a handful of people milling around to get a look at the rides, grab a candy apple before the lines fill out to be yards long. They’ve been going to the fair together for as long as Link can remember, little boys holding onto their Mama’s skirts, who chittered about the goats and hens, teenagers doing 100 down the highway in Rhett’s sleek pickup to get to the fair before the tents were even set up. And now like this, in the prime of their life. 

This year is one of the first in a long time Rhett has come without a girlfriend. Years back, they’d couple up together, Link with a girl holding him by the hip and Rhett at his side, some pretty lady with her arm hooked into Rhett’s. It wasn’t a bad thing, Link has loved the girls he’s gotten involved with and Rhett is genuine, too, Link knows that better than anything else, but Link always felt quietly sour, sulked when he saw Rhett and whichever girl kissing behind the barns. 

Now, Link gets Rhett to himself, gets to fill with a cocky satisfaction at knowing Rhett is glued to his side for the next few days. 

“Here, I gotchyers,” Rhett says, reaching to take Link’s Coke. He’s got his pocket knife out, glinting a fantastic silver in the sun, and he presses the opener to the top of Link’s drink, pops it open with a satisfying pop and hiss. He passes it back and their hands touch, some of the soda fizzling out over the rim and sliding down their fingers, and Rhett immediately sticks his in his mouth, sucks them clean. 

“Thanks for the Coke, man.” 

“Don’t worry over it, Townie,” Rhett teases. He takes a long gulp of his Coke, rubs his chin. “Gonna get some good prize money off them bulls this weekend, I’m tellin’ ya.” 

Link smirks at the pet name. It’s not fitting considering how much time he’s spent out at Rhett’s ranch, since about 1st or 2nd grade if he recalls correctly, but Rhett always calls him that, teases him, says, “City Slicker” because Link lives where he can actually see his neighbors. 

“Jus’ don’t bust yer head open.” 

“Oh, worryin’ over other things, are we?” 

“Yeah, yer my ride, ain’t ya?” 

Rhett laughs a hearty laugh, mutters, “You big jerk,” and pushes at Link’s shoulder playfully, pinches his side through his shirt, and Link yelps, tries to keep his soda from spilling out of his hand. 

Link giggles, pushes his glasses up his nose. “I’m serious, though, Rhett, call it quits instead of losin’ a leg.” 

“I’ll be careful, bo, you know that,” Rhett mumbles, tips his Coke back up to his lips, and Link can feel himself blushing at that, how Rhett has picked up calling him “bo” recently. He figures Rhett won’t notice his flush and if he does, it will be chalked up to the heat that has his hair curling around his ears. 

They’re quiet again, sipping their drinks, the sides of their boots touching, the people below them laughing and squealing like people always do when the fair is in town. The air smells like hay dust and thick sugar spools of cotton candy, smells like manure being spread and fries being dunked into deep vats of bubbling yellow grease. Link would kill to have a reason to reach over and take Rhett’s hand, knot their fingers together despite the heat and the sweat and hold him like a very loud promise. Instead, Link turns his bottle over in his hands, studies the crackling pattern of the dust that’s collected on Rhett’s fine black boots like flour. 

“We should scope out the goats an’ pigs soon, before all the kids come through an’ poke at ‘em,” Link says, because he has to say something or he’ll make himself sick thinking about Rhett. 

“Sounds good. Another minute an’ we can go down.” 

The band that’s playing tonight must be set up because a cover of the Everly Brother’s “Bye Bye Love” kicks up and Rhett starts to tap his boot along to the beat. They don’t sound bad, from what Link can hear, but he’s not in the mood to think about any of this, love and love lost, just wants to enjoy his time alone with Rhett mindlessly, and he stands, sets his empty bottle on the railing.

“C’mon, man, I got jitter-legs.” 

Rhett doesn’t protest, stretches out his long legs, and they race down the metal steps, jangling their boots loudly like thunder rolling in, and they both take off , quick as teenagers through the thinning brown grass. Link’s just a bit faster, Rhett having to be more precise about his footing with his sharp heels, and Link yawps, giddy, glances over his shoulder to see Rhett right behind him. 

“Careful, boys!” an older woman calls out, probably some they’d gone to church with in their youth. 

The warning doesn’t slow them in the least and Link zips between a flurry of people, but Rhett’s still ribboning behind him like he can predict where he’ll turn. And before Link can even suck in another breath to laugh out, Rhett’s got him below the collar and they both stumble over one of the hay bales that makes up the border of the grounds and they’re tumbling down into the grass, giggling like fools, Rhett’s fist curled into the fabric of Link’s white shirt that’s not going to be white for much longer. 

“Get offa me!” Link squeals. 

“You started this, man!” Rhett’s fingers dig into him, tickle his sides and underarms and Link squirms in the dirt and dust and dead grass that sticks to the sides of his ruddied, sweaty face. Link covers his eyes with his arms, defenseless against Rhett, but trying to protect his glasses from getting thrown off or crushed. It feels good, having Rhett pressed up on top of him, both of them writhing, Rhett’s belt buckle digging into his thigh bluntly. 

They wrestle a minute longer, legs kicking into the ground without purchase, and they’re both laughing like hyenas, all revved up because it’s the fair and they’re excited and they don’t have any girls telling them, “Hey, you boys knock it off, our daddies’ll see ya actin’ out.” 

Link stands first, holds his hand out to Rhett who claps it and gets to his feet with a sway. Link picks up Rhett’s cowboy hat which has been strewn to the side, slaps it onto his head. Both their faces and arms are powdered with dust, making them look like actors with makeup caked on too thick “Ruined my good white shirt, ya dink,” Link complains, patting some of the dirt out. It’s smeared with brown-green streaks. 

“Sucks to suck.”

“I’m not kiddin’, man. How am I supposed to be seen with you like this?” He slaps his knees, swats at Rhett’s, too, and little puffs come off. 

Rhett plucks some grass out of Link’s hair, says, “I gotta another plaid in the truck you can change into.” 

“Won’t be able to call me a Townie no more then,” Link points out, mostly to keep himself from grinning ear to ear with elation. They’ve shared clothes before, shirts and jeans and boots, but this is a public thing, to be in matching flannels. It makes Link’s insides get hot as a firecracker. 

“Guess we’ll be the cowboys for tonight.” 

Link couldn’t wish for anything more than that. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


At Rhett’s truck, Link strips off his soiled shirt in the parking lot and tosses it behind the passenger seat with the other clothes piled up there. He’s scrawny compared to Rhett, who’s just naturally wide in the torso, broad shoulders, long, thick arms, hips like dinner plates. It doesn’t bother him much, he likes the contrast between them, but he still notes how slender his waist is when he’s shirtless like this. 

“White as a ghost under there!” Rhett cackles. 

Link looks down at his belly, how pale and milky he is, and his mind flashes to how tan Rhett must be, a deep caramel from being around his farm without a top on, tending his horses. He licks his lips, quirks into a smile. “I don’t swim anymore! Don’t have reason to be struttin’ around like a Cassanova like you!” 

Rhett grins, pretends to flex a bicep. He throws a green and white plaid at Link, who catches it and starts to slink into it. “Gotta getchu in the sun then, boy,” Rhett drawls thickly. “Gotta getchu workin’ them fields like a good farmhand, ya hear?” 

Link’s fingers fumble and he misses a button, loops one into the wrong hole, and he has to go back and fix it. He could get used to Rhett talking to him that way, makes his heart feel like honey, makes his ears warm like a sunburn. 

“Hurry up now,” Rhett pushes, closing the driver’s side door to his truck. “Thought you wanted to get to seein’ those  _ piiiigs _ .” 

Link nods and hastily buttons Rhett shirt the rest of the way up, closes the other door with his boot. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


After making their rounds with the animals, feeding the goats and grunting at the pigs, Rhett pausing to talk to some of the farmers and other cowboys strutting around with their big hats, Rhett and Link settle under one of the meal tents near the stage and share a tub of fries, a plate of fried chicken. The band, a local group from a state over, is playing a Johnny Cash piece, but the lead singer’s voice is a pitch too high for it to be anything phenomenal. 

“Should uh, bring my guitar, see if they’ll let me play up there,” Rhett comments, pushes fries into his mouth. He has the appetite of a starved man. 

“Why would anyway wanna hear you?” Link jokes. He gulps down a mouthful of Mello Yello and sighs, adjusts his glasses.

Rhett elbows him, makes him giggle. “Oh, shuddup. I sound good.” 

“Ask someone in charge if you can. I don’t think anyone will complain.” Sometimes in the cool of the hayloft, Rhett would play Link songs he’d written, about tall corn stalks and stray dogs and his favorite horses. Sharing that with the public would be nice. Link knows everyone would be impressed by how deep Rhett can get his voice, how silken and glassy he can sound when he wants to. 

Rhett reaches over Link to grab a napkin, dabs his mouth with it. “Granted I still got fingers to play with. Some of the horses they have this time?” Rhett whistles, shakes his head. “Gunna need an iron grip.” 

Link doesn’t really want to talk about this, it makes him nervous to think about Rhett being tossed around, and he pulls a face, wrinkles his nose. “Go back to talkin’ about guitar. You’ll worry me gray.” 

Rhett chuckles, but he doesn’t press the rodeo topic further. They talk about getting cotton candy, talk about going back to Rhett’s ranch at the end of the night and letting Link stay the night so he can help feed and load the horses for the next day. They’re on boots, Rhett offering to get Link a proper pair and maybe a hat so they’ll match, Link refusing outright, when two girls in cutoffs and tied shirts approach them. 

They giggle and ask Rhett, “Are you Rhett McLaughlin?” and when Rhett nods, tips his cowboy hat down, gives them a cheeky smile, they giggle louder and start telling him how much they admire him. 

“We’ve seen you like, the last 3 years,” the strawberry blond says. “You’re one of the best rodeo boys we ever seen.” She grins and Link hates to admit it, but the bottom tooth she’s missing only makes her that much cuter and he tries his best not to look like he’s sulking. He pokes at the fries Rhett has ignored, drags a few through the lake of ketchup on their plate. 

Rhett voices his appreciation and they get into horses. Link just watches them, looks at their long golden legs and butt length hair, counts the freckles on their noses while Rhett explains that his grandfather used to cattle herd on a much larger scale than anyone else today really does anymore. Link wishes he could put his hand to Rhett’s hip and tug him close, let these gals know that Rhett is his and always will be. 

Link knows that Rhett won’t bother much with these girls, he’s not one for hooking up and neither is Link, even during the fair which is prime time for summer flings, but his jealousy is irrational. He wants to prove to every fawning woman that Rhett is his, that he’s known Rhett longer, but Rhett isn’t  _ really _ his and it makes something stir in his stomach.

The band finishes their song and a man in overalls comes on stage to announce something about tractors being auctioned Monday. Link gathers up their trash and doesn’t bother nudging Rhett. The girls are seated across from him now, twirling their hair and beaming at his every word, sipping their iced lemonade with award winning smiles. He goes to the nearest trash can, shoves their shit in it, and stands stupidly for a second. 

Link’s being an asshole, he knows it. Rhett can’t help attracting the girls, doesn’t understand that Link is burning up for him, but he starts to stalk off towards the ferris wheel anyway. 

A hand grabs him by the shoulder and spins his around. “Hey, man, where ya goin’?” Rhett asks, his face surprised and curious. 

Link flushes, looks down at his boots. “Was jus’ - givin’ you three some space.” 

Rhett exhales out of his nose and takes Link by the wrist, tugs him toward where people are dancing or tapping along to the music, and says, “Well, I’m done with them now. Let’s get our boogie on.” 

And somehow, Link lets himself be lead into the group of people all shimmying and gyrating to a twangy cover of Boot Scootin’ Boogie, and him and Rhett both shake their hips and spin in circles and bump up against each other, sweaty arm to sweaty arm. Their faces are red and Rhett’s hair starts to fall out in moist curls from under his cowboy hat, coming undone from the Brylcreem he’d combed into it that morning. He still smells like hay and the woods and crackling fire, even over the strong stench of fair food and alcohol wafting around them, and Link breathes it in every time they’re close enough for that. 

Whatever jealousy Link had has melted away, watching Rhett dance and laugh, throw his head back and grab Link by both wrists and rock him in silly, jerky movements.  _ I could love this man the rest of my life _ , Link thinks over the blaring music. And he could, Link is positive he wants nothing more than to spend each day with Rhett, getting up early in the morning to help him around the ranch, go to bed curled to his side. And the weight of that thought, the absolute need in that, makes him ache. 

Link tries to ignore it. He really does. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Whut’s the deal with you, man?” Rhett asks as the ride operator checks the lock on the small metal door that keeps them inside the ferris wheel seat. 

Link shrugs, looks away from Rhett at the line they were just standing in. After dancing they’d gotten two big hives of cotton candy, eaten those, and gone to look at the classic cars. Between the Cadillacs and Chevy station wagons, Link’s heart was still heavy with want and rejection. He’d cursed himself, trying to shove those thoughts down into the trash compactor of his mind, but he knew full well it’d arise. When Rhett had broken up with Irene, Link had been overjoyed, immediately thinking about all the time they’d get to spend together, especially the fair, but he felt selfish and mean for that, too. 

To Link, the fair feels a date and now that it’s been set into motion, he’s realized, in sharp clarity, he can pretend all he wants, Rhett will never be his boyfriend. That shift has come so suddenly, this change inside of him from admiring Rhett in silence to being unable to shake the thought that Rhett is unobtainable. 

They’d gone to admire the crops and flowers, pumpkins the size of baby elephants and tomatoes bigger than baseballs, but Link was far away, so Rhett had suggested the ferris wheel. 

“Sick or sumthin’?” Rhett prods. They move forward and upward in choppy intervals. “Chicken not sittin’ well? I bet someplace around here sells Pepto.” 

Link sighs and gives Rhett a long look, his face drawn with not quite annoyance but not quite sadness either. “I’m fine, dude, nothing’s wrong,” he finally says. 

Rhett creases his eyebrows and scratches at his beard, breaks eye contact with Link to look at the ground as it moves away from them, rising over the tops of tents and other rides, almost at the height of the rockwall. “Is it Irene then? You see her around? I said y’all could date. It doesn’t bother me none, you know that-”

“It’s not that, Rhett-” 

“Jamie? You think Jamie don’t want you back or-”

“No, Rhett, jus’ drop it, willya? We don’t have to talk-” 

“Well, whut  _ is it _ , Link?” 

Link shuts his eyes, wills himself to keep from crying, which he can feel building up behind his nose, the corners of his eyes prickling. “Are you  _ dumb _ , Rhett? Do you really want me sayin’ it?  _ Here _ ? Right now?” 

Rhett shuts up fast, his mouth a straight flat line, and he avoids Link’s eyes. “Maybe I  _ do _ , Link,” he spits out, but his voice immediately softens to a whisper, “I might be a dumb farmhand but I’m not thick as a brick like you think.” 

The sun is starting to set, slipping down behind the peaks of all the tents, and the air cools with it. Link fiddles with a thread that’s hanging from his elbow where Rhett’s shirt is bunched up, his heart hammering in his chest. Rhett said that with such confidence and knowing, Link’s stomach feels like it’s going to drop out of him, afraid that Rhett has seen the way he stares and he’s just been waiting for a chance to call him out on it. 

That doesn’t feel like Rhett. Hawk-faced, deep voiced, holding bales by their twine one handed, Rhett can come off real scary, but Link knows Rhett is kind. He holds baby goats and nurses them from the bottle, smiles at kool-aid mouthed kids, sings along to The Doors in silly voices in his truck. 

“I like you, Rhett,” Link says firmly. He feels hysterical. “I like you sumthin’  _ fierce _ . I fancy you bad, Rhett James, an’ I bet you already know. With all my - the way I  _ follow _ you like a damn idiot all the time. Is that whut you wanted to here? Wanted me to ruin the whole dang fair for both of us now?” 

Rhett is silent, his eyebrows going up, but he doesn’t look angry, doesn’t look disgusted. 

Their booth lowers and as soon as they’re at ground level, Link is swinging the small door open and legging it, ignoring whatever it is Rhett is trying to say behind him. His bottom lip juts out, quivering, and he pushes through the crowd, tries to find a face he recognizes. He stumbles into a guy him and Rhett had graduated with, Clyde Sanborn, and asks if he can get a ride home, at least into town. 

Clyde, easy going and somewhat simple minded, agrees with a lazy smile and starts to lead Link in the direction of where his truck is parked. Link feels sick, doesn’t want to be around Rhett, and he asks Clyde if they can stop and grab a beer before going. 

“Oh, sure thing, man. Rhett comin’ with? I seen y’all earlier. He still around?” 

Link’s stomach flips. “Oh uh, nah. He’s stickin’ around late, gotta judge horses, I think.”

Clyde nods, doesn’t ask anymore questions much to the relief of Link. 

And less than 10 minutes later, Link is shotgun in Clyde’s truck, the windows all rolled down to let in the cool night air, and they’re both sipping beers, headed out of the parking lot of the fair and in the direction of Link’s house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is either gonna be 2 or 3 chapters long depending on where this goes so uhhh ideas are welcomed in the comments 
> 
> don't forget to kudos
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the f slur gets used once just as a precaution
> 
> otherwise this chapter is pretty safe!

Rhett spends near an hour wandering the fairgrounds looking for Link before finally giving into the notion that Link has probably definitely left with someone else and he’s just wasting his time. He sits on a hay bale and pulls of his boots, shakes some of the dirt and small rocks out of them, stepping into them again, but sitting with his elbows on his thighs. 

“Dangit, Link,” he mutters, watching couples and families move past him. “Dangit, Rhett,” he adds. 

Rhett could probably make it to Link’s house in time to be back for the horse show, but that is only assuming Link will come back to the fair willingly. That also assumes that Link is home, when he could well be out with anyone else considering he got a ride home from someone. Showing the horses isn’t a required thing, Rhett could skip it this year, but he’s been part of it in some way or other for at least 12 years and he knows he’ll get shit if he flakes. 

“Dangit,” Rhett repeats, standing, kicking some dirt. “Shit.” 

He decides to let Link have his night to himself, lands on swinging by his place either late tonight or early the next morning and seeing where they’re at then. Rhett isn’t scared to see Link, this isn’t the first or only time they’ve had a hiccup, but it’s certainly much different from all other times they’ve argued or felt snuffed by the other and Rhett isn’t positive what the protocol is. Giving him time to cool seems best. 

So Rhett does the rest of the fair solo: getting lemonade, eating through a corn dog he doesn’t really want, chatting idly with groups of people that recognize him; dealing with the constant “Oh, McLaughlin, I ain’t seen you in months,” and “You part of the show tonight? Excited for tomorrow’s rodeo?” Paired with this is always someone asking “Where’s Link?”, their lips pursed sad and curious, like him and Link are guaranteed enough a pack deal, strangers can feel when they’re apart, and every time he gets asked he feels like a huge asshole all over again. 

Rhett answers with “Got sick an’ I drove him home.” This works well enough that people don’t press any further, nod their heads or say “All that grease and sugar in this heat! It’ll get to a man.” 

By the time the horse show rolls around, Rhett feels wilted and mostly wants to go home. He loiters by the stables, though, watches other cowboys and their girls filter through, swishing hips and swaggery jeans. He just chews some Red Vines, leans against some of the stable posts and offers his hands out to the unfamiliar horses who are calm and seem to like the genuine attention. 

An older man, Mark, with a big round belly that hangs over his faded, drooping jeans calls out, “Rhett, you’re gettin’ those two Clydesdales there,” and he points a shaking finger to a stable. Rhett nods his understanding, almost laughs because of course he’s being assigned the largest breed they’ve got tonight. He goes over to the stable, looks at the two horses, which are jet black with white blotched faces and their manes the same colors as Link’s hair, and suddenly Rhett is sad all over again. 

The horses, whose names are Budweiser and Rose according to the tag pinned to the post, must sense it because they come over to Rhett, try to press their prehensile lips up against his beard in comforting, nibbling kisses. “Hey, girls,” he says softly, patting their trunk-like necks. “You know, huh? Everyone knows but me, don’t they?” 

Rhett gets called out moments later and the horses take to him kindly, letting themselves be led by their reign ropes, not even flinching at the noise or bright lights of the outside paddock. He follows the other cowboys, smiling at folks in the stands, assuring his horses with a whisper, telling them, “Doin’ good, gals,” and “Good, gonna make a turn here now,” and it’s the same as most every year except Link’s not there in the bleachers and Rhett knows it. The magic of it is dulled. 

He circles the paddock three times before he’s directed back to the stables in the barn, ushers the horses back into their place, praises them good and long for their obedience. A few folks stop by to ask Rhett if he’ll be riding tonight or judging like he’d been invited to months before, partake in eventing and show jumping and not just leading, but he doesn’t have the heart to stick around any longer. He shakes his head, says his best horses are home and he ought to be going to feed and get them ready for the real rodeo tomorrow. 

Rhett makes the long walk back to his truck, which isn’t so bad because the crowd has really thinned, most people in the bleachers instead of walking around, but it makes him feel even more alone. He gets to his truck, starts it up, and rolls down both crank windows, the lights from all the rides and attractions making pink and green fractals dance over his face, the curve of his windshield. 

The mix tape Link made for him last year is in the tape deck so he pushes it in and Merle Haggard fills the small yet open space. On his dash, Rhett can see bootprints Link has left behind, his feet pressed up there when he goes to fix his laces; finger smudges on the door handle, on the windshield from where Link taps on the glass to make his point about something. 

He backs out of the lot and while he’s waiting to turn, his signal clicking, Rhett remembers Link has left his soiled white shirt behind the bench seat of his truck and he slots his hand down there, fishes it out. He holds it up to his nose, inhales. It smells like Link, like coconut shampoo and Old Spice, a tiny bit like sweat, not so much body odor, but rather skin and warmth and a peculiar humanness. 

Rhett slings the shirt around his shoulders like a towel and keeps it there the whole ride home. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


With just the one cage lantern on in the barn, hanging from an orange extension cord, Rhett feeds his horses and mucks the stalls, whistles to himself, Link’s shirt still slung over his shoulder. In the morning, at dawn, he’ll get up and load his horses to bring to the fair. For tonight, he’s going to retire to his house. 

Inside, he heats himself a can of beans on the stove, eats two cold hard boiled eggs with salt he’d made that morning. There’s rum in the fridge and he’s drawn to it, but Rhett likes to keep sober for the fair. To avoid alcohol him and Link usually get frozen Cokes and lemonade and cherry slush, stain their tongues bright artificial red and claim that drinking is beneath them; that two men like them can have fun without getting hammered like everyone else. Link gets nervous if Rhett drinks, says he’ll get trampled if he falls off during the rodeo and Rhett agrees, it’s best to stay in line for that. 

Rhett’s beans are bubbling quietly when he decides to call Link. He dials in the number on the corded phone mounted to a wall in his kitchen, kicks his boots off and starts to undo his belt while it rings. According to the wall clock it’s already 11 pm and there’s a good chance Link is asleep, maybe not home. 

“Link Neal speakin’.” 

Rhett’s heart drops and he pauses, his belt between his fingers. His tongue has shriveled to dust in his mouth. 

“Hello?” Link asks. 

“Uh, hey, Link. It’s me.” Rhett lets his belt clatter to the linoleum tile and he shifts his weight to cradle the phone better against his shoulder, gets a noseful of Link’s shirt. He goes over to the stove. He stirs his beans with a long wooden spoon. 

“Oh,” Link says. 

“Listen, I’m… I’m sorry about today. I didn’t mean to pressure you or anythin’. An’ I’m not - Link, I’m not upset about whatchu said.” He pauses then adds, “I’m sorry I was bein’ an idiot.” 

“Rhett…” Link sighs. “We don’t gotta talk about this right now.” 

“Well then we won’t,” Rhett says, matter of fact and he hopes Link reads it right because he’s not trying to be mean. Rhett feels like he has no meanness in his body, never for Link. “Come over fer the night. We can hit the fair again tomorrow an’ get there early to-”

“Oh, is that all you want? You think that ‘cuz I don’t wanna talk about it we can act like it never happened?” 

Rhett goes silent, feels his chest grow hot and tight. “I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ , Link. We can talk if you wanna talk. If we’re really gunna talk about it, come over. I don’t do business like this on the phone.” 

Link scoffs, says, “Cowboy don’t do his business on the phone. That’s real funny, Rhett,” and the line goes dead. 

Rhett looks down at the phone, at the shirt on his shoulder, then goes to hang it up on the receiver, pick up his belt and boots. He sits in the dining room and eats his beans while the television in the living room plays an episode of M.A.S.H. He could really go for that rum now. 

He thinks about Link and him going swimming in the creek down by the very edge of his property, dipping their toes in the cool water while slurping on twin pops that melted in sticky spirals down their wrists at 10, having breath holding competitions, looking to see if either of them were starting to get chest hair like their daddies. He thinks about graduation, both of them sucking on the ends of fat brown cigars and smiling for photos, arms slung around each other. He thinks about Link and his lopsided puppy smile and blue marble tree eyes and wheezy, chest slapping laughter. 

Rhett is doing dishes, his elbows deep in the warm suds, when headlights turn into his drive. “Oh, Lord,” he says, grinning and he laughs because of course Link is here. Even mad, neither can stay away from the other for long, always gravitating back, like planets orbiting, like waves lapping the shore. Rhett dries his hands on a towel printed with apples on the bottom hem and goes to the front door, turns on the porch light. 

Coming up the steps is Link, in the green plaid Rhett had given him, same jeans, same boots. He stops, ten feet from Rhett and they eye each other, Link’s gaze going back to Rhett’s shoulders over and over again and it makes Rhett realize he’s still got Link’s t-shirt draped there. His plaid is unbuttoned fully, standing there in stockinged feet, his hair messy from being crushed under his hat all day. 

“You look like a fool,” Link finally says. The corners of his mouth tweak into a smile and Rhett breaks into one. 

“You look good,” Rhett says back and he means it. “Wanna sit?” 

So they sit, in the two rocking chairs Rhett has out on the porch just for them, the backs engraved with NEAL and MCLAUGHLIN respectively and sitting there, bob back and forth gently, Rhett realizes how stupid he’s been. They both have spare toothbrushes at their houses for when the other stays over. Rhett has towels upstairs in the bathroom closet, blue for Link, red for himself. Any given day, Rhett could reach into his jean pockets and produce one of Link’s chap sticks, the letters on the label starting to rub off, a handful of quarters and dimes Link had shoved at him after getting pizza because he didn’t want to carry them around. Rhett has goddamn matching rocking chairs with their surnames printed on them. 

“Rhett… I mean whut I said. I’m not gonna lie about my-my attraction.” 

Rhett nods and wills himself not to get overly emotional. “I’ve been stupid, Link.” 

Link makes a face and his features go together, his eyebrows pulled tight, his mouth pursing with argument. “Rhett, you ain’t been stupid, if anythin’ I’m the-”

“No, Link, I been stupid for years.”

“Rhett,” Link repeats, sounding anxious. 

“Of course I love you, Link,” Rhett blurts out. 

They’re both silent. Crickets rub their fiddle legs somewhere down beyond the steps and their chairs squeak when they move. 

“You don’t have to say that,” Link whispers. “If it’s not true, don’t say it, Rhett.” 

Rhett shakes his head, messes around with one of the buttons on his shirt. “You know why Irene broke up with me?” 

Link tenses visibly and he sucks in a deep breath, gives Rhett a nervous side glance that lasts a split second, his knuckles curling into the arms of his chair. “‘Cuz she wanted kids an’ you didn’t. That’s whut you told me when I asked.” 

Rhett shakes his head again. “She’d thought you an’ I were more. More than friends, I mean. Always finding your boots in the bed of my truck, your shirt tucked somewhere. She got bent over it, would-would say I was more into you than her an’ I suppose… she was right. She got nastee about it, said she’d tell the church and Pastor Davis an’ all that.” 

“Oh, Rhett, I-” 

“She’s right, though, Link. I think we stopped bein’ brothers a long time ago an’ you were onto it more than me. Maybe I was scared to admit it.” 

Moths circle haphazardly around the yellow bulb in it’s square, glass case above their head, smacking their small bodies into it over and over. 

“No one around here is - No one here is like us, Rhett,” Link says, hushed, and he sounds scared. 

“No, but whut’s that matter?”

Link, in his most daring move yet, reaches over and hooks his pinky into Rhett’s, notices that Rhett doesn’t recoil or pull away and slips all his fingers into place. “Don’t you think it’s  _ wrong _ for the big rodeo cowboy to be kissin’ on men?” Link somehow sounds both joking and deadly serious at the same time. 

“Not men. Jus’ you.” Rhett unsure of whether or not he’s allowed to do things like this, lifts Link’s hand to his mouth and gives him a chaste kiss. “An’ ‘sides, it’s wronger for cowboys to kiss townies. Break one rule, break all the others.” Rhett figures this will come up in conversation again, internalized homophobia, the fear that’s been pushed onto them from church and God and guys in high school who used the term faggot like it was word flavoring, but that’s for later. Right now, things need to be kept light or Rhett might actually cry. 

Link giggles, high and breathy, and when Rhett looks at him, his face is red as a tomato, his eyes glinting with tears. “This ain’t a joke, right? No one’s gonna come outta the bushes an’ throw a pie in my face, right?” 

“Ain’t a joke, Link.” 

Rhett stands and encourages Link up too, pulls their bodies flush to each other, and Rhett can feel Link’s heart beat thrumming against his bare front, his blood hot in his veins, and they look at one another, eyes darting back and forth. 

“Yer a fool, Link Neal,” Rhett whispers, his voice aching with affection. 

“For you.” 

Rhett laughs, says, “Oh, gross,” then tips his face down to kiss Link, his mouth warm and soft, tasting like Heinekin and garden peas, and Link shifts under him, stands on his toes to reach Rhett properly and his hands go to Rhett’s hips. 

Their noses still touching, Link says, “I been wantin’ to do that for years.” 

“Do it again then, Neal.” 

So they kiss and kiss and kiss, teenagers trying to get their footing type kissing, innocent enough with undertones of want, the buttery light of the single bulb painting their profiles yellow, the other half shadowed in the dark. And Link breathes hard and quick out of his nose, makes surprised, happy little sounds like a chittering bird when Rhett drags his beard over Link’s cheek. And Rhett keeps trying to pull himself closer, press their bodies together so they’re seamless, his arms around Link’s neck. 

And somehow they make their way upstairs to Rhett’s bedroom where they pull apart to undress down to their underwear, jeans and boots and matching plaid shirts in a Rhett and Link pile on the old wooden floor, Link’s glasses placed carefully on Rhett’s dresser, and they crawl into Rhett’s bed together. Link switches on the radio, pushes in the Rolling Stones tape Rhett has hanging around and they go right back to kissing while Mick Jagger sings “Miss You”, their hands touching chests and arms and the smalls of backs. It’s exploratory and slow.

“Sorry if it ever seemed like I was stringing you out.” 

Link giggles, runs his hands down Rhett’s chest, and smiles up at him in the dark of the room. “You mean stringing you  _ along _ .” 

“Oh, yeah. Why? What’d I say?” 

“Stringin’ me out.” 

Rhett grins and pulls Link up on top of him, kisses his hair, pokes his nose into his scalp. Muffled he says, “Right, that part comes later.” 

“You never did, by the way,” Link adds after another minute of wonderful quiet. “You never owed me anythin’, Rhett. You were jus’ bein’ you an’ I like you for that.” 

Link turns on the AC which rattles and clunks from the window and they lie together, Link tracing the bulging veins that pop up from Rhett’s forearms while Rhett rubs the nape of Link’s neck. It feels like nothing has really changed between them, just shifted comfortably to a place where they’re supposed to be. Friends who are close as friends can be and also kiss and touch and share a bed, and it’s so simple, it makes Rhett ache like a bad tooth. He imagines the high of a rodeo combined with Link coming up to tackle hug him, clap him on the back and say, “Rhett, you were so good out there! Dang, lookachu!” and kiss each other full on the mouth, Rhett caked in dirt and muck, heart hammering, and Rhett can’t think of anything he wants more than that. 

“I love you, Link,” Rhett says, unprompted, because he can and he wants to. 

“I love you, too, Rhett James,” Link whispers back. He says it like he’s saying the name of a movie star and Rhett’s heart does a backflip. 

There’s no pressure or obligation for things to get sexual despite the obvious charged up, staticky feeling that’s buzzing between them and Rhett breathes in, appreciates how natural things flow. There doesn’t have to be a “Do you want to date?” or “Are we boyfriends now?” because they know without words, like they always have. Able to speak a language no one else on earth speaks, able to say without words in crowds or alone, the cultivation their decades spent together. 

“Tomorrow’s gunna be good,” Link murmurs. He sounds sleepy. 

Rhett hums, agreeing. “Tomorrow’ll be good. We’ll shower after gettin’ the horses rounded.” 

“Together?” Link asks, childlike and hopeful. 

“Yeah, together.” 

The tape finishes whirring and Rhett worries Link has gone to sleep by the way his breathing has shallowed. “Link?” he asks, hushed. 

“Mm?” 

“Ya know how you said no one around here is like us?” 

Link props his head up a bit to squint at Rhett, his expression quizzical. “Mhm.” 

“You know my farmhand, Stevie? She comes around to help for haying season sometimes?” And when Link makes a sound of confirmation, Rhett says, “She likes girls. She’s seein’ some gal from a few towns over. Stevie’s brought her once or twice… She’s nice.” 

Link drops his head back to Rhett’s chest and he says, “Oh.” He rubs Rhett’s arm. “I’m glad you told me that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like this is going to be a 3 part thing!
> 
> kudos + comments if you enjoyed 
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


	3. Chapter 3

  


Heavy-eyed, Link comes to before the sun is fully in the sky, just a fat yolk bleeding haze through the slats of the shades, and the panic of Rhett not being beside him in the bed does not register at first, muddied by his drowsiness. The sharp panic comes within a minute, the realization that Rhett has gotten up sometime in the night, but is gone just as quick, extinguished when Link sees Rhett rustling around in the closet. 

He’s shirtless, in just his underwear, his tanned, broad back to Link, bent over halfway pawing through the laundry on the floor. Rhett must sense Link is looking at him, or maybe has heard him stir in the sheets, because he turns around and smiles, says, “Mornin’, City Slicker.”

“Mornin’, Cowboy.” Link clicks off the air conditioner and pats around for his glasses on the dresser, finds them, puts them on. 

“Get a move on, boy, if yer comin’ along with me today. You don’t gotta bother with a shirt unless you want to, since we’re showerin’ right after the horses.” 

Link doesn’t argue any and they both pull on their jeans, shirtless, and go out to the barn, load up Rhett’s two favorite horses, Myth and Merle, feed and muck the other two that are staying. Rhett hitches his truck and mentions that his farmhand, Chase, a young dark haired kid Link has met a handful of times and like’s well enough, will be by for the remainder of the weekend. 

In the bathroom, they is really one item of clothing to remove and Rhett doesn't seem shy over it, though Link suddenly hesitates despite being who requested the joint shower. They’ve seen each other nude before, though, tubs together when they were boys before pubic hair, in locker rooms after gym, skinning dipping in the lake years ago, a bottle of wine shared between them. 

So Link steps out of his underwear at the same time Rhett does and they both stand there nude, unabashed about their bodies but clearly, in their expressions, curious and a sliver shy. 

"White as milk," Rhett says softly. 

Link steps into the shower, is hit with the warm spray directly between his shoulder blades, and is misted with droplets over the nape of his neck, his hair wetting and sticking around the curves of his jaw. "Can't all be tan an' handsome, buckaroo." 

Rhett takes up place beside Link, mutters, with a smile, "Nope. Pale an' handsome seems alright to me." 

They suds up using Rhett's cake of porcelain white soap, passing it back and forth between slippery fingers, flecks of diluted green and faded yellow hay circling the drain. From the bedroom the Violents Femmes play, a tape Rhett slide into the radio some time that morning, hard to hear over the thrum of the shower head, but a comforting white noise of plucky guitar and warbly vocals. 

Link has just rinsed shampoo from his hair, is reaching over for one of the condition bottles when Rhett’s fingers card through his hair, and he turns, sees that Rhett is nearly pressed up against him, and he warms into a squinty smile. 

“Figured I’d give you a hand there. Can’t be wastin’ no time in here,” Rhett whispers. 

“Oh, is that whut this is?” Link teases, grinning. He stands on his toes to press a kiss to Rhett’s mouth, his dewy moustache tickling his lip, and Link’s mind goes blank with the ecstatic realization that this is something he just gets to do now. _How wonderful is that_ , Link thinks, _that I can kiss Rhett whenever I please?_ It dawns on Link there, in the shower, his hip touching Rhett’s thigh, that he’s allowed to kiss Rhett and shower with him, touch him, spend nights together in the same bed without fear of rejection or doubt, that this is a permission they’ve agreed on. 

“Needed a shower _that_ bad? You look like yer havin’ a religious experience, man.” Rhett palms the back of Link’s head and starts to rub some of the conditioner out. 

Link doesn’t say what he’s thinking, that he’s considering all the things him and Rhett can do now under the lens of being partners, how wonderful it is to be with someone you’ve known your whole life and still have chapters to write together, just smiles at him and brushes some conditioner into Rhett’s beard. 

Out of the shower, Rhett passes Link a blue towel, slings a red one around his hips, and they head to the bedroom to get dressed for the day leaving behind reflective footprints on the wooden floor, Rhett whistling along to Sweet Misery Blues.

_Would you go out with me or somethin’? / Would ya sleep with me or somethin’?_

Link sits on the edge of the bed with his towel balled up over his groin and watches Rhett pull some shirts from his dresser, laying them out beside Link on the bed. Plaids mostly, then a pair of faded blue overalls, a black long sleeve with iridescent white buttons and the outline of a cactus on the breast pocket. He tosses a pair of underwear to Link, who catches it one handed, and tries not to blush at sharing this kind of intimacy. 

“Take yer pick, cept that black one. I think most’ll fit you.” 

“You tryna get me in overalls?” 

Rhett grins, the morning light filtering over his face in thin straight lines and catching in the golden highlights of his wet hair, steps into a fresh pair of underwear. “You’d look cute in ‘em,” he says, not glancing up from his bent over position. He has another almost identical pair of Wrangler jeans in his hands. 

Link scoffs, but runs his fingers over the stitching of the denim, fingers at one of the rubbed-smooth clasps on the chest. “I’d look like freakin’ Tom Sawyer.” 

“Guess I’ll be Huck Finn then.” Rhett grabs the black button up and snakes his arms through it, starts doing up the front while raising his eyebrows at Link, nudging his head at the overalls. 

“Gunna paint fences next, Man In All Black, over there?” Link asks, getting up so his towel falls to the floor and pulling on Rhett’s underwear. “Always lookin’ like Cash with your rider outfits.” 

“Glad someone noticed. Gunna do my hair in the bathroom then we’ll get ready and go.” He gathers up what else he needs: boots, socks, thin-tooth comb, cowboy hat. “Jus’ turn off the radio when you’re done.” 

“Aye aye, captain.” 

Link gets dressed into the overalls and matches them with a maroon long sleeve, and after putting all the other shirts neatly away into Rhett’s dresser because Link can’t go through the day knowing they’re on the bed, and turning off the radio, Link catches up with Rhett in the kitchen, his hair styled under his hat. Rhett gives him a cheeky approving smile and Link rolls his eyes, blows air out of his mouth over the outfit, but inside, he feels like cherry honey. Him and Rhett are both trophy cowboys now, even if Link is only one by association. They make sure to grab Rhett’s guitar, Barbara, he calls it, and once they leave a note letting Chase know he can help himself to whatever’s in the fridge, they get into Rhett’s truck. 

Windows all rolled down, Rhett tunes the radio so Tom Petty comes through and they both sing along as they pull out of the yard, the sun perched behind a cluster of cotton ball clouds. When Rhett doesn’t need to shift, his reaches his arm across the black leather bench seat and holds Link’s hand, and it feels so normal and grounding, Link can’t believe they’ve gone this long in their lives without it. 

The drive is a contented kind of quiet between them, the time filled with a mix of country and rock, the wind whipping past them in whistles as they go down the highway. 

Rhett pulls into the parking lot, heads down the dirt path that leads to where he’ll drop off the horses until tonight. The lot is a kaleidoscope of smells, mostly hot, fried foods, the tang of lemonade, the vinegar burn of hot sauce being lathered onto chicken, and it makes Link feel thrilled and nauseated. They’re still holding hands even though they've got sweaty palms, skin sticking together like the adhesive on fly tape, and for a second, Link wonders if he should pull away now that they’re at the fair. Rhett must sense his worry, though, because he gives Link’s hand a squeeze and smiles over at him, and that gesture is enough to soothe him. 

“I got you, bo, don’t worry ‘bout anyone else but you an’ me,” Rhett tells him, his voice gentle. 

They get the horses situated and Rhett talks to some of the stable boys who Link doesn’t recognize from years past, but they clearly know Rhett by their behavior: a mix of cool laxidality and obvious excitement to be around him. Link understands the feeling. He feels that way himself anytime he’s around Rhett. 

“Alrighty. Cowboy Business is done ‘till tonight. Whatchu wanna do now?” Rhett asks, turning back to Link and smiling a sunshine smile, the creases near his eyes looking like folds in fabric. 

Link shrugs, pokes his tongue out while he thinks about it. “Corn maze?” 

“Corn maze it is, Linkster.” Rhett goes to take Link’s hand but he slinks away, giggling, and shakes his head, grabs Rhett by the hip, and pulls him close to his side. He slips his hand into the back pocket of Rhett’s jeans like he always sees couples doing at the fair, and Rhett laughs, gets the idea, follows suit. 

  


* * *

  
  


“We should have Stevie over more often,” Link says, breaking the silence the two have been sitting in for a while now. “That cookie pie she makes is to die for. You know how much I like pie.” 

“More than the average man, I’d say,” Rhett replies from under his hat, which is tipped down over his face to shield him from the evening sun that distills its way through the trees. He’s lying on the edge of the brook, on his back, arms behind his head, legs spread, his shirt off and retired by his side in a clump, and from where Link is standing in the ankle deep water, the light catches the fine hairs on Rhett’s chest, making them look like curly golden threads. 

“Long drive, though, I reckon,” Link continues. “From her apartment to here.” 

“Her an’ her gal stay with Chase during hay season, I think they said. In town.”

“Oh, well that’s not bad then.” Link squats down and sifts through pebbles with his fingers, rubs some of the water on his brow. He had been looking for crayfish earlier, like him and Rhett did when they were 8 and 9, calling them mudbugs, but he can’t find any today. It’s not as hot as it was, the day cooling now that it’s closer to night than morning, the crickets chirping from somewhere near, in the tall grass. 

It’s been three weeks since the fair has come and gone, leaving the plains empty for the local kids to zip through on their bikes and skateboards, already becoming overgrown with tall stalks of milkweed and curling clumps of orange bittersweet. Rhett had sung after they’d finished the corn maze, getting his guitar from the truck, and going up on stage with a humble one-handed wave. He sang a cover of Jim Croce’s “You Don’t Mess Around With Jim” then one of Merle Haggard’s “What Will it Be Like”, which to Link, sounded especially good in Rhett’s deep drawly voice. He looked sleek with his black hat and boots and special shirt with it’s fancy white buttons that looked like opal. Rhett had kissed Link after singing, in the crowd of folks all gathered around to listen, and as Rhett had put it while telling it to Stevie, “no one said boo about it”. 

They’d spent the rest of the day together: goofing around on the rock climbing wall, seeing the ducks and chickens at the poultry barn, sharing popcorn and caramel apples, Rhett winning a stuffed bear at the Knock ‘Em Over Bottles and promptly giving it to a crying little girl by the booth.The rodeo had gone well, with Link getting to hang around back, in the stables before Rhett did his thing then getting front row in the stands, which made him a little nervous, so close to everything. Rhett came out alive, with a fistful of money and minor bruises, which Link fussed over when they got home that night, coming in the door giggling and intertwined. 

“Whatchya thinkin’ about over there?” Rhett asks. Link turns to see him sitting up with his elbows in the grass, his hat back on his head. 

“Cookie pie,” Link answers. 

Rhett chuckles, nods like “that sounds like the Link I know”, and sits up fully, scrubbing a hand over his face. “C’mere here.” 

Link obliges and wades through the water like an astronaut on the surface of the moon, taking big, dramatic, up-to-his-chest steps, and it gets Rhett giggling again, amused. Link crawls up on the embankment, sits next to Rhett, and Rhett slings an arm around his neck, pulls him closer, presses a kiss into his hair. 

“Whatchya want me for then, Cowboy? Interruptin’ my cookie pie thoughts.” 

“You’re a goof off,” Rhett mumbles into his hair, not answering the question, Link not expecting him to. 

Link leans into him so they’re cheek to cheek, enjoying the coarse feeling of Rhett’s beard. He smells like hay and sweet tea, the potatoes he’d slice in anticipation of having people over for lunch, smells like the horses and the bottle of cologne Link has seen once or twice in the bathroom in a small oval bottle. 

Link puts his fingers under Rhett’s chin and tilts his head towards him, kisses him on the mouth, and feels Rhett melt into it, his hands going to Link’s thighs and squeeze him through his jeans. They kiss a while, until Rhett ends up pressed into the soft grass with Link on top of him, Rhett’s hat discarded along with Link’s shirt, their jaws working until they ache, a fine film of sweat casting a sheen over their bodies. Link pulls away first, sitting up so he’s straddling Rhett, his palms flat to Rhett’s bare chest. 

“You alright down there?” Link asks. 

Even with all the nights spent at Rhett’s house and him coming over to visit Link at his home, they haven’t gone any further than necking, a little bit of grinding, but nothing below the belt, nothing that involves them taking their pants off. 

Rhett looks flustered, his celery eyes wide, a curl of Brylcreem-ed hair hanging down over his forehead like Superman, and Link smooths it back into place. “I’m alright,” he answers, voice hushed as if they’re going to get caught. “You alright up there?” 

Link stretches his fingers, purposely lets his pinky brush over one of Rhett’s nipples. “I’m alright.” It’s funny to see Rhett like this: pliant and nervous, his face getting red through the darkness of his tan. Link has only ever imagined it, sometimes as envy when he thought of Rhett being with whatever current girlfriend, most times as longing, Rhett’s calloused hands touching him, Rhett and him slotted together nude. Link is already hard in his jeans. 

“You wanna?” Rhett asks, jutting his chin out in a gesture that means “continue” and Link nods. 

They kiss again and Rhett’s hands go all over Link’s sides, almost tickling, and then he’s lifting his hips, using the leverage of his knees, and he flips Link over so he’s the one pinned in the grass. They laugh, breaking their kiss with how their smiles split their lips apart, their mouths shaped like orange slices. 

“I wasn’t plannin’ this when I said we should cool off by the creek, by the way,” Link says.

Rhett smirks, says, “I wasn’t either. I’d say this is the opposite of coolin’ off.” 

“I don’t anythin’ to - I don’t have…” 

“S’alright. We don’t have to do…” Rhett gestures vaguely with one hand in what must, in his mind, mean penetrative sex and Link nods along, leans down and kisses him again, trailing his lips down so he’s kissing Rhett’s neck and collarbones, then his chest, and Rhett makes breathy, chirpy noises above him. 

Link stands up and peels off his jeans, which are wet on the cuffs, and while he does that, Rhett’s belt buckle jangles, prompting Link to look down at him. For whatever reason, seeing Rhett sliding his brown leather belt from out of its loops, the ovuloid buckle clanking along with it, turns Link on even more and he bites his bottom lip. 

Rhett’s kicking off his jeans without getting up when he asks, “Suddenly shy?” It’s teasing, but his voice is a shade soft, a sincerity, a way to let Link know that they can stop if need be. 

“Got distracted.” 

Underwear is removed and to Link’s request, set gently on top of their jean pile. Rhett pats his bare thighs, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows and Link rolls his eyes, but sits facing Rhett, slinging his arms around his neck. They touch their foreheads together. He feels overly exposed being outside despite knowing full well they’re on a very secluded piece of property, something so public even when alone in outdoor nudity. 

“White as milk, Cowboy,” Link whispers, glancing down between them. Rhett’s thighs are as pale as all of Link, his erection a chrysanthemum pink, a stark contrast to the burnt caramel of Rhett’s upper half.

“Link, I love you, but if you don’t touch me soon I’m gunna pass out.” 

Link giggles and mutters, “I think I been waiting longer for this than you,” and curls his fingers loosely, curiously around Rhett’s cock, getting him to hiss between his teeth, rest his head to Link’s bare shoulder. Link jerks Rhett slowly, unsure of what Rhett likes, but Rhett makes encouraging noises, so Link continues, picks up his pace. He swings his thumb over Rhett’s slit to gather some of the precum pearling there and Rhett gasps, startled, and worms his hand between them to grab Link. 

“Oh, Lord,” Link huffs out, leaning his head back towards the sun to gulp down some air, his adam's apple bobbing. With his neck exposed, Rhett kisses his neck, biting lightly, and wraps his free arm around the small of Link’s back, pulls him closer. 

“Here,” Rhett pants. “Like this.” He presses their cocks together and Link sputters something unintelligible even to himself, grinds his hips into Rhett who moans, biting Link’s shoulder. Rhett wraps his hand around the both of them, creating a tight, warm pressure, while Link starts a steady wave of hip rolls.

“C’mere,” Link murmurs and he desperately presses his open mouth to Rhett’s lips, works him open so he can slide his tongue into Rhett’s mouth and Rhett groans, tightens his grip around them. 

“ _Goll-lee_ , Link. Dun-Don’t know whut to do with myself,” Rhett sputters when Link breaks their kiss to spit into his palm, spread it over them with quick, feverish strokes. Rhett’s breathing hard through his nose like a bull, his lower stomach spasming with contractions. 

  
  


Link can feel himself trembling, his slender thighs shaking down to the muscle, and he plants kisses all over Rhett’s face, peppering him in them, over his nose, his eyelids, his beard, his moustache, and in this frenzy, Rhett smiles a split second before his face twists back into an expression of pleasure. 

The Superman curl falls back into place and Rhett whimpers in the back of his throat, says, hoarsely, “Gunna come, Link. Gunna come like this.” and Link nods, hysterical with his own release, his body going taut all over. He shudders, keeps working himself against Rhett, and Rhett comes, onto his Link’s stomach, over his own hand, and Link can feel him throbbing, in beat of his heart, pressed to his erection. “Oh, God, Link,” Rhett groans, sucking in a breath. Link seeks out his mouth blindly, clasps his lips to Rhett’s as he comes, too, on his stomach and Rhett’s, hammocking between Rhett’s fingers, a few flecks speckling their thighs. 

Link leans his head to Rhett’s shoulder and he’s metal-hot, can hear his heart thundering just beneath the skin. They breathe in what the other breathes out for a moment, fish-mouthed, gaping. Rhett grabs his shirt to use as a rag, wipes his fingers off on it. Link yawns, curls his toes into the cool grass. 

“Come live with me,” Rhett says. 

Link pushes his glasses up his nose, which are practically fogged over, and gives Rhett a look. They’ve talked about it casually a couple times, sometimes jokingly, but never as serious as Rhett seems now. “You mean it?” Link asks dumbly. 

Rhett tosses the shirt to the side, rubs his hands up and down Link’s sweaty back. “Mmm. Live here with me, Link.” He leans them back, Link’s head rested to his chest, their soft, warm, post-orgasm bodies seamless in their touching. They’ve matted the grass down considerably where they’ve been sitting and lying, looking like deer have been sleeping in the field. “You practically already do.”

“That’s true,” Link mumbles. He feels gauzy, drowsy from their embrace, and he yawns again, smacks his lips. 

“Will you?” 

Link smiles, kisses Rhett square on his chest, bisecting the distance of his nipples, just shy of where he knows Rhett’s heart is and says, “Absolutely, Rhett.” 

The sun is going down now, the clouds shifted, their fat underbellies colored sherbert orange and cotton candy pink, and those too-bright-to-be-real colors remind Link of the fair, the first weekend they’d spent together as a genuine couple. The creek reflects the sun back onto itself, the surface shimmering with a yolky gold.

Rhett kisses the top of Link’s head. “Won’t be a townie no more.” 

“Nope. Gunna be a genuine cowboy, I guess.” 

Link couldn’t wish for anything more than that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a lot of fun to write thank you for all the comments + support! 
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


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